The Spinning Mirror
by takethehint
Summary: Since the adventures of Digory and Polly, Narnia has been at peace. Beyond the protection of the Golden Tree, however, a familiar villain has been working to bring an end to this age of harmony. Can three new heroes prevent Narnia's wintery fate?
1. A Very Rainy Tuesday

It was a cold, rainy sort of Tuesday—the sort of day that felt restless and stuffy to anyone with any kind of imagination. It was raining just enough to keep you indoors, but nowhere near hard enough to be considered a "good storm", which, in Henry Caldwell's opinion, was the only sort of storm really worth having.

As Henry stared out of the nursery window and watched the grass droop and melt into a mess of muddy puddles, he felt the day with all of the misery and disappointment that his young heart could bear. It had been such a promising night too—with stars that cut clearly through the darkness like beacons, and a fat, yellow moon that hung in the sky and filled the nursery with a queer, golden glow. Recalling this, he resented the dreary weather all the more, and Henry felt very much that life was not worth living if one was not free to run outside and enjoy the last few weeks of holiday.

As he reached up to close the curtains, he saw a little black car creep towards the house and totter to a halt just at the end of the drive. A hunched figure, cloaked in black, emerged from the cab. As soon as he caught sight of the slouched woman's face, his rainy-day attitude did not improve.

Moaning, he turned to Lizzy who was currently too busy playing with her dolls to be properly miserable. How she could stand the dull chore of dressing and undressing the silly little things for so long, Henry could never know. Disagreeable as he found her, however, she was still the only person in the house who could truly appreciate his predicament.

"Ms. Mooney is coming up the walk," Lizzy grimaced and she looked up gloomily. She stood and placed her dolls carefully on her bed before she joined Henry by the window.

Peering out the curtain, she sighed moodily enough to please even Henry before she turned to address her older brother, "She was only _just_ here the other day." Pouting, she played with a loose string on her dress, "You don't suppose Grandfather has taken ill again?"

Henry shifted his weight uncomfortably, "I wish he could do a better job of keeping well," he mumbled, "Saddling us with such a woman on such a horrid day…it doesn't do much good for anyone." Grandfather, they both knew, had never fared well in this sort of weather. Even in his youth, it had never seemed to agree with him. Lately, however, it was worse than it had ever been. Just the other week, he had gone into such a violent coughing fit that it seemed to shake the great house down to it's very foundations—Lizzy was a mess for days.

She continued to worry the bit of thread, "He'll be all right, won't he Henry?"

"Well how should I know?" said Henry hotly, "You know I don't know. That was a stupid question." Lizzy's bottom lip started to tremble, but Henry didn't care—he couldn't stand crybabies. "Oh hush up, if Ms. Mooney catches you crying again, she'll give you something to cry about." Lizzy dried her eyes hastily—Ms. Mooney had less patience than Henry when it came to tears.

The doorbell rang, as they knew it would, and so, dragging their feet, they made their way down the winding staircase to the front door where they knew Ms. Mooney would be waiting to meet them.

Henry opened the door, and in walked Ms. Mooney—looking just as ill tempered as ever. She was a stern old woman with cold eyes and a ruddy complexion, giving the children the impression that she was always angry about one thing or another, which to be quite fair, she usually was.

The children looked on drearily as the prim old woman scuffed her muddy boots on their grandfather's favorite rug. Just as they felt they could hardly be more miserable, Ms. Mooney unbuttoned her overcoat to reveal an old leather suitcase, which she handed to Henry before promptly turning and walking upstairs to the guest bedroom. Henry and Lizzy stared hopelessly as the suitcase. To be left alone with the dreadful woman was enough to make any child unhappy, but to be under her command long enough to validate the suitcase made the Caldwell children feel as though they were the most unfortunate creatures that ever lived.

And so Henry, struggling with the weight of the bag, proceeded to drag the suitcase up the stairs. As Lizzy trailed behind him, she couldn't help the horrible, familiar feeling that a particularly unpleasant week was waiting to meet them.

Neither Henry nor Lizzy were thinking that moment that anything strange or fantastic could ever find them on such a gray afternoon. Such a notion was ridiculous and out of bounds even for Lizzy, and if it had been you looking into the steely eyes of Ms. Moody on that most unpleasant of Tuesdays, I have trouble believing that even you would have been inclined to think any differently.


	2. Henry Loses his Temper

The Caldwell children lived in a house that was very big and very splendid and if you asked, Henry would tell you that he and Lizzy were "perfectly happy there", as they had enough toys to fill a dozen nurseries and more space to run around than any other boy in his year. Grandfather was very rich and he indulged the children however he could, since their parents had both taken ill only a little while after Lizzy was one-year old and died just before second birthday. Although they could hardly remember their parents, the children knew that the key to any new toy was to mention how much they missed them. Henry was particularly good at this and had more toys than any other boy he knew.

As a result, innumerable dolls and toy boats littered the house and the nursery was filled with so many playthings, the children could hardly step without tripping over one. The Caldwell children, however, did not have many friends that they were willing to share them with. "What's the use?" Henry would say whenever his grandfather invited him to have a boy over, "He'll only break something." Lizzy too had become accustomed to her dolls and hardly ever spoke in school. The other girls took this as a gross insult, and so they had learned to ignore her whenever she was near.

Whenever Ms. Mooney was stayed at the house, however, they were forced to abandon their precious toys. Ms. Mooney was an old maid who lived about a mile down the road, and although she had no children of her own, she always insisted that the best of children had "no use for such silly playthings." Children in her day, she would often say, knew how to entertain themselves. Worse, though, in the minds of the Caldwell children anyway, than any of this was the danger that Ms. Mooney would bring Anne.

Anne was the niece of Ms. Mooney who lived with her in the summer months. She was about eight—only about three months younger than Henry, but uncommonly tall for her age, with pale blonde hair that was hardly ever neat and a shocking amount of freckles. She was full of laughs and stories and nonsense and had simply no sense of volume—her voice would ring through the spacious house in a way most alarming to the Caldwell children, who much preferred a nice quiet home, and even her laugh was enough to make the crystal in the china cabinet tremble dangerously.

Lizzy was absolutely terrified of her, and as for Henry, he simply couldn't stand her. "I hate her and everything about her," he had decided, "She's all noise and chaos and she _always_ breaks something." And of course, who should appear at the door not a minute later than the horror herself. As Henry opened the door to admit her, it took everything in his power to keep from slamming it shut at the last moment and locking her out in the rain.

Leaning over the banister, Ms. Mooney called out "I am tired from the day's journey, play nicely. I shall be down I an hour to make sure you've all behaved." With this threat hanging in the air behind her, she disappeared into the guest bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"So!" said Anne, ignoring Lizzy's flinch, "What shall we do today? I just love rainy days—there's so much room to have adventures in a big old house like this!" Lizzy had inched behind Henry at this point, and Henry had already had it with Anne.

"This "big old house" he said a bit too warmly, "Is ours. And we will _not_ be having any "adventures" or whatever other nonsense you've thought up." And with that he turned on his heel back to the nursery, smirking at how quickly the freckled girl's smile had slipped from her face. Adventures indeed, thought Henry haughtily. What sort of fool looks for adventures on a day like this? He snorted cynically and he turned into the nursery door, with Lizzy scurrying in quickly behind him.

"Oh, wait Lizzy!" Anne called, causing Lizzy to freeze in horror. "We don't need _him."_ Henry too had stopped in his tracks. "He's just a stupid _boy."_ Henry's face started to turn pink. "He wouldn't understand adventure if it bit him on the nose! We'll have our own adventures Lizzy, and he is _not_ invited." Henry spun around now, face glowing red. Lizzy stumbled back in alarm.

"Not invited? I wouldn't come if you _begged_ me! And it's girls who are the stupid ones! No one in their right mind would ever go on any sort of "adventure" with a girl!" Anne just smirked

"Well you're just jealous. I bet you wish we would let you play with us, but we won't. And there's nothing you can do about it, right Lizzy?"

Lizzy was trembling at this point, looking from Anne to Henry as if they were two horrible monsters waiting to pounce on her. "I-I…"

"See? She's _scared_ of you, Henry."

"FINE!" Henry was beyond aggravation at this point—he was positively enraged. "I don't care! I don't want to play with a couple of dumb girls anyway, so I hope you have a grand old time with your stupid adventure because I know I WILL."

"So you do like adventures," Anne smirked.

"I DO NOT! IF WOULD YOU JUST SHUT UP FOR—" but Henry never got to finish because at that moment he looked up to see a very angry Ms. Mooney glaring down at him from the top of the staircase.

"Mister Caldwell" her voice hissed through the sudden silence "How dare you bellow like a lunatic when your grandfather is sleeping? You'll be the death of him, you troublesome boy, I've always said so." The color had drained from Henry's face now and he stood shocked as Ms. Mooney marched down the steps toward him. "Get out of my sight you disrespectful little tyrant! You may scream at your sister everyday of the week but as long as I'm here, you will _never_ raise your voice above a mumble to my Anne." Even Anne looked sorry now, and she looked to Henry with sympathy—however much she loathed him, she had never intended this. "Go on boy—_go. _ And you are not to come back to the nursery until you've learned to control that temper!


	3. What Henry Saw in the Mirror

Henry bolted, out of the hallway and away from the gaping faces of Lizzy and Anne. He was shaking and panting by the time he had reached the very smallest sitting room and sat on the footstool there, his eyes darting around wildly and his ears perked for any sign of Ms. Caldwell's return. After a while all he could hear was Anne, who was trying to calm down Lizzy who was surely a shaking mess after so much screaming.

Soon, however, his fear left him, and his thoughts went back to Anne—it was all her fault after all! His stomach churned at the very thought of her and her ridiculous adventures. Her pity was forgotten as he jumped to his feet. Henry was angry—angrier then he had ever been. That Anne girl was the problem—he was sure of it. Always coming about when she wasn't wanted, always spoiling everything. As he was storming away, he began to cry furious tears—which of course only made him angrier. He hated tears—especially his own. He wiped at them as he neared the most neglected staircase in the house and kept going, up, up, up, until he couldn't even hear her anymore. That awful girl with her ludicrous stories and her stupid games—he would show her!

Now if there was anything Henry Caldwell was proud of, it was his ability to sneak. He had jumped out to frighten Lizzy more times than he could count and he had decided that what that Anne girl needed more than anything was a good scare. So up to the attic he went, creaking up the stairs, defying the darkness with a haughty smirk—he would not be afraid of the attic. There was far too much work to be done for any of that nonsense. He got to the top and hastily flicked on the lamp—no need for him to bumble around in the darkness, after all. Although he certainly wasn't afraid of the dark—of course not.

As he looked around the dimly lit room he realized, with a shock, that he had never been up quite this high before. After all, he lived in a very large house—there simply wasn't time to look through all of it. But at this moment, Henry wished that he had. Something about this attic was not at all to his taste—it was dusty and simply reeked of disuse. No, he much preferred to be among his clean, new toys that waited for him in the nursery. But, he swallowed painfully, he was already here, so he might as well have a look about.

She was just a girl, he thought to himself, girls scare faster than rabbits. And as he looked around he spotted just the thing to spook the freckles off of her. It was a ghostly sheet—very tall and very old and very white—standing out in the attic amongst the grey and the yellow, seemingly untouched by the hands of time and decay. It stood, in the very darkest corner of the room. (Which of course, wasn't a problem—it wasn't as if he was frightened. It was just such a long way to walk—and who knew how long it would be until they found him?) But Henry, ever a sensible boy, knew that there was simply nothing for it. He had to walk it.

As he walked farther and farther from the light, he began to shiver and looked around nervously. Where were those stupid girls anyway? Anne hardly every stuck to the nursery, surely at this point she would be roving all over the house—she always had a tendency of showing up when he least wanted to see her. He quickened his pace and was nearly running by the time he reached the sheet—so fast, in fact, that at the very last moment, his foot caught on an old tablecloth and he was thrown forward. He flailed helplessly as he tripped and then, at the last moment he caught onto the sheet, pulling it violently from whatever it was draped over, and collapsing into a pile on the ground. He had barely lifted his head when suddenly he felt it hit—smack! Right into his nose—the object the sheet had been resting on was spinning and had caught him square in the face. And Henry fell backwards with a soft whoosh into the phantom sheet, as the attic faded away to darkness.

When he finally came to, Henry put his hand to his nose "Ouch!" Even the slightest touch and it smarted. Henry felt perfectly terrible—he was all alone, very hurt and he was sure that no one would ever care to find him. He hated everything—the girl, the sheet, the attic, and whatever had just hit him. He sat up, head still spinning from such a powerful blow, to face his offender.

"Oh!" Henry flinched violently, upsetting the dust on the sheet. He had looked up to see a little boy staring back at him—Henry Caldwell himself. But covered in such a ghostly old sheet, he had thought, at first, he had seen a specter. "Oh phoo—stupid old mirror," he muttered. The mirror was huge—lifted off of the ground on a golden stand that had two clawed feet and such ornate designs, Henry couldn't make out all of them in the dim lighting. But there were mountains, yes, and an awful lot of trees. And when he looked quite closely, he could look out little figures running about—as if they were dancing with the trees—no, in the trees, of course... _What a queer sort of mirror, _Henry thought to himself. And as he backed up to look at the enormous thing, his stomach turned cold and his jaw locked tight.

Staring out of the mirror, right beside his own petrified image, was an enormous golden lion. Fierce and powerful—the beast seemed to take up the whole room—filling every corner with his mane and his tail and his claws. Henry couldn't even manage a whimper_. Oh no,_ he thought hopelessly, _he's just going to gobble me up as a snack and no one will ever even know about it. _And he stood, stock still, for what seemed like years, with the lion blinking lazily, until finally the beast closed its eyes, and went to sleep. To_ sleep?_ Henry couldn't believe his luck. Quickly, he glanced behind him, searching for the fastest escape. But wait—Henry wrinkled his nose in confusion (painfully so) there was no lion in sight—just the same gray attic he had walked into. He spun back to the mirror, and there it was, plain as day—a huge ferocious lion sleeping right there next to him.

Now Henry Caldwell, as I'm sure you've noticed, is not one for nonsense—there either was a lion or there wasn't—there were no two ways about it. And yet, as he glanced from mirror to attic to mirror—the lion would appear and disappear as if by magic. Looking back at the lion, Henry saw the beast's lip twitch in his sleep. With a jump, he realized, that nonsense or not, there was a lion in his attic and he did what any sensible boy would do—he turned and bolted out of that attic as fast as his legs could carry him.

He nearly fell twice as he stumbled down the attic stairs, desperate for the comfort of his nursery. And the whole while, slipping and sliding down the twisting staircase, as he ran all he could think was "surely not. How could it be?" Of course, he was mad, he was dreaming—surely not. Surely not.

And by the end of the staircase he had quite soundly reassured himself that the whole thing had just been brought on by that blow to the head—a bit of wild thinking that's all it was. And as he walked back into the nursery he did not even acknowledge Anne who, despite herself, couldn't help but smirk at his red nose and dust-covered shirt. Just then, Ms. Mooney strode into the room, tall and grim as ever, but Henry couldn't bring himself to be quite as afraid of her. "Well, well. It seems you've learned your lesson after all. Not so fun playing all by yourself, is it Mister Caldwell?"

Henry blinked twice and shook himself a bit, "No, Ms. Mooney," he said quietly.

"Well I'm glad to hear you have decided to speak at a more respectable volume. You'll not be screaming like that again, will you Mister Caldwell?"

Henry shook his head, still feeling a little lightheaded. "No, Ms. Mooney"

"Well good. I'll be in the sitting room, but if you step out of line one more time, you'll be very sorry indeed!" And with that, she turned from Henry and left the nursery, leaving the girls to goggle at Henry in silence. Never had Anne or Lizzy heard him sound so complacent.

But Henry hardly noticed their stares as we walked to the far corner of the nursery to set up his trains. All the while he sat there, he would occasionally shake his head, trying to clear his head of nonsense. Because Henry Caldwell was a sensible boy—a sensible boy who did not have a lion in his attic. Of course. Because it simply couldn't be real—it couldn't be…surely not.


	4. Anne Proposes an Adventure

Anne had stayed with the Caldwells for three days before she spoke to Henry again—he was such an unpleasant boy after all. Lizzy was at least quiet enough not to make a fuss (although she wasn't nearly adventurous enough for Anne's taste), but Henry was another story. Normally whenever Anne was around he would spend his time gloating about a new toy he'd gotten or complain loudly about how much he despised having guests in his house—but over the past couple of days he had hardly spoken at all.

Curiosity was eating at Anne like a bad itch, and as much as she wanted to resist it, she couldn't help but scratch. Privately, Anne was quite proud of herself for even lasting those three days.

"All right them," She turned to Henry, who was looking very hard at the puzzle he had just finished, "what happened?" Henry ignored her. "Oh, come on. You must have some explanation for that awful look on your face."

Henry looked up slowly, "It doesn't concern you, so why don't you just mind your own business?" He was gripping the puzzle box so tightly that the cardboard started to bend. "Just because I have to put up with you, it doesn't give you the right to pry into my private business." Anne smiled—she had him now.

"Oh really? Because if I didn't know better, Henry Caldwell, I'd say you look _scared."_

Henry paled. "Be quiet."

"What? Did you run into some dusty old ghost?"

"I said drop it, Anne" Henry's voice was getting dangerously quiet and Lizzy had already started to inch away—she wasn't keen on getting caught in the crossfire of their fights. The two were terrible enough apart, but together they were unbearable.

"Come on—out with it! I'm sure it's not that scary—I know I could handle it."

Henry turned to her, "Oh could you now?" Henry was far past his silence now and his lips were curled up into a very terrible sort of grin, "I bet you couldn't handle it. I bet you're all talk and that all that adventure nonsense is just a big sham."

Anne flushed, "Is not!"

"Is too!"

"IS NOT!" Anne was furious now.

"Prove it."

"Fine!" She stood up suddenly, "I will!" Henry just kept on smirking, and she began to feel uneasy about the whole thing—what if there really were ghosts in the house? It was rather old… She looked around nervously.

"Unless of course," Henry said, enjoying himself, "You're _scared."_

That did it. Anne marched up to Henry and glared at him hard. "Tell me where you went all that time—after you came stumbling back into the room the other day."

"Follow me," Henry stood to meet her gaze, "And I'll show you." The pair turned to leave the room, Henry looking smug as ever and Anne stomping along behind him.

"Wait!" Lizzy emerged from behind her dollhouse, "We're not to leave the nursery! What will Ms. Mooney say when she finds out you're missing?" She looked helplessly from Anne to Henry. But it was no use—they were adamant about going.

"Just stay here, Lizzy," Henry said. But after all of the talk about ghosts, Lizzy wasn't about to be left alone. Besides, she knew that whatever anger Ms. Mooney might have towards the older two for leaving would be taken out on her if the old nanny discovered that they were missing. So, grudgingly, Lizzy shuffled along behind them, wishing very much that they wouldn't see any ghosts, and wishing even harder that Henry and Anne would stop their fighting.

Now you must understand—Henry might have been a selfish boy, and certainly mean-spirited enough to give Anne a good scare, but there was no part of him that actually wished her any real harm. And as they drew closer to the attic stairs, he began to have second thoughts. "Anne," he said cautiously, "Are you quite sure you want to do this? I, erm, well I don't want to have you screaming and running to Ms. Mooney on me."

Anne took this as a horrible insult.

"What?" She stopped in her tracks, nearly causing Lizzy to run into her. "We may not be the best of friends Henry Caldwell, but I am _not_ a tattletale!" She thought, of course that he was referring to the other day when he had been banished from the nursery, "It isn't _my_ fault that you can't keep your temper!"

"Can't keep my—" Henry sputtered angrily, "I'll bet it wasn't your fault—I bet you did it on purpose!"

"What?"

"That's right!" Henry had completely forgotten himself by this point, "I bet you planned it! Adventures indeed—all you like to do is to cause trouble! Especially if it means sending that awful old crone on people who have done absolutely nothing wrong!"

"NOTHING WRONG!" Anne roared indignantly, "YOU WERE SCREAMING LIKE A LUNATIC!"

"WAS NOT!"

"WAS TOO!"

"WAS—" but Henry had to pause. And the children froze in horror as they heard the quick, angry footsteps of Ms. Mooney approaching.

"Oh no!" shrieked Lizzy

"Oh, nice going Henry!" Anne said as she spun around, trying to gauge where the footsteps were coming from, "Now we're all in for it!"

"Quiet you! You were screaming too!"

"Oh we should have never left the nursery," Lizzy moaned miserably.

Henry quickly grabbed Lizzy by the hand and turned to Anne, "C'mon you! You wanted to see the attic? Well now we've got no other choice!" Anne didn't look particularly pleased with this news, but at the moment, anything sounded better than the wrath of her angry aunt. She followed Henry to the smallest sitting room and, amid Lizzy's whimpers, they all three clambered up the old staircase, glancing behind them as they went for fear of pursuit. Then, as soon as they were all up, Henry closed the door quickly behind them and turned on the light.

"Keep quiet Lizzy!" he hissed, and the three fell silent, sliding to the floor in exhaustion, quietly panting after such a panicked run.

"Henry," Anne's voice sounded very small, "What do we do now?" Henry swallowed hard and looked towards the mirror in the far corner. Part of him wanted to insist that there was nothing here anyway, but then, he reasoned, Anne might assume that he was only frightened of the attic.

"Are you feeling very brave, Anne?" He said, quite seriously.

Although the others couldn't see it, Anne was as white as a ghost and already shaking from looking around the dusty and shadowed attic. She felt about as brave as a field mouse.

"Yes." She squeaked. Henry looked at the mirror again, his shoulders sagging. There was nothing else for it.

"Well," he whispered, "then follow me."


End file.
